


Kneel Before Throne

by fullofshame



Series: Blessed Glory [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Cock Slut, Cock Worship, Come Shot, Comeplay, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dehumanization, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Facials, Fantasy, Fucked Up, Gay Male Character, Half-Human, Humiliation, Insults, Large Cock, M/M, Micropenis, Overstimulation, Panties, Power Imbalance, Premature Ejaculation, Psychic Abilities, Punishment, Religious Fanaticism, Royalty, Science Fiction, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Slut Shaming, Small Penis, Spanking, Undressing, Verbal Humiliation, Worship, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 06:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullofshame/pseuds/fullofshame
Summary: Pride goes before fall.Emperor is ordained by gods, every child knows that story. He is master and lord of all that lives. He decides fate of all, and all people are his belongings, to use and serve as he sees.One slave, despite all conditioning, remains defiant in heart. But after he catches bored Emperor's eyes, he learns  how obedience can be brought on. And Emperor finds surprise in that strange man.





	Kneel Before Throne

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is first of my dirty fantasy porn tales. Most will have elements of humiliation and submission. This one can get pretty dark, with executions and system of caste and slavery. Of course I don't stand for those things, and neither do characters on receiving end. So if you can't read this, please don't. Stay safe.
> 
> Do you know how much worldbuilding I have for this? Like too much.

Today, their Emperor holds audience.

Once a year, it happens. And for months, years, decades people, from highest noble to lowest peasant plot and plan and get in debts to win a permit, to go to Golden Palace, have their story heard and judged by the Emperor.

Some count on the luck. On arbitrary system that randomly gives out codes of passage to citizens, for them to win in lottery. Others bargain, offering theirs for businesses and money and treatments and slaves, or track down poor and ill and snatch permits from their possessions with wide smile and few coins offered to starved parents and sick children. And third yet lie and kill and steal, though they will never call it so, families broken and estates razed and jobs lost and blood, blood everywhere for sake of chance to glimpse His Radiant Grace.

That is however one thing they all envy slaves for. On this day, all slaves must be presented before Emperor- for all things are his, most of all in this area that is utterly his and his alone, and he must see for himself how his property holds up.

 _So kind. So wise. So dutiful. So caring. So efficient._ That is what they all say, with wonder and pleasure and sigh in their voice, their eyes, their hearts and minds.

Slave Number 3768091 rises from his (it’s, it’s, it’s, but in thoughts he is free to think as he wants) post. He marches, bound hands let hanging in front of him, head bent, long hair pushed in front of him so that his back, and instructions for handling are left clear, and walks along slave-ways, pebbles and cement digging in calloused feet, skirt-like scarf he had round his hips tangling, slowing him down, and unlike rest of his station he doesn’t grumble, doesn’t moan or try to hide sobs. And he doesn’t beg, or shiver, or sing praises (they all do different things to survive. He sometimes wonders if he is even trying so).

‘’Come on, come on! Do you want to make His Radiant Grace wait? That is treason, you know cattle?’’ Their overseer’s amplified voice is followed by hearty laugh, growling and deep and rough, and her derision is like granite arrows stabbed in soft flesh, like being forcibly fed bale, and he knows how funny she finds it, to make those lazy, clumsy animals believe they will be murdered- of course she wouldn’t complain, bother Grace with something so trivial and lose slaves and stain floors of palace, and earn reputation she disappointed Emperor, but still it would be so amusing to see one of them beg before they are shot.....

 _Ah. That one is good slave, properly trained_. She thinks, and her attention is like ray of sun focused by looking glass, but cold and sharp as glass, and he remains calm and maintains his standing as her eyes pass over him, examine how he walks, holds his head.

 _Makaria77_. That is password she uses for her overseeing device, her grandmother’s name and age as she focuses awkward, rough metal tube to gaze upon him.

 _Oho-ho. Common Property! I know what I will be doing afterwards_. Moment we exit Palace. Her lust isn’t strong, barely desire, embers cooling down- she is looking for something nice and quiet to play with, more to revel in feeling of power and holding hands against shoulder of something silent and beautiful, fueled by knowledge she can take it-take him-anywhere, any when, then leave him at one of posts for Common Property.

 _Mhhhh. This keeps getting better. A whore’s get, it surely has much experience_.  Her satisfaction is deep and rumbling, like pat at back. What does she know of brothels his mother lived in since before she could work,  dirty floor of cheap whore house where she gave birth when she was barely eighteen, of children forced to lie in bed of strangers to keep roof over heads and made to call it honor and duty and luck?

 _AAAAH!_ She drops the device, and doesn’t even notice though it registers to his too open mind, and he drowns in her revulsion, wrecking his body like thunder strike, and yet he stands, even as he wants to vomit, to tear off his own skin and represses urge to choke himself as anger and _How is THAT allowed to walk with normal slaves_ stab him as daggers. If he  was allowed to, he would smirk, so he satisfies himself with watching his arms, the brands they put upon him (they have no idea he knows how to read, of snatches of writing and coding he stole and copied in dark).

**Etherically sensitive.**

**Failed experiment.**

**Liminal existence** ( _halfbreed, nephil, cambion, demigod, monster, aberration, living spell_ ).

Onwards they walk, through dirty slave-ways, walking with bowed heads alongside colossal,  crude and awkward grey buildings all of them same, for divergence is not to be tolerated in Empire, and all of them as ugly as if steel and cement had melted, full of design flaws and dangers.

 _Stay silent. Stay silent. Stay silent. Don’t embarrass masters_.  The slow train of thoughts, exhausted and agitated, like harsh smog lazily tailing over thousand of nervous bees drums in his head, fear and tiredness of his fellow slaves chokes, suffocates him again and again. He accepts it all but last advice- things like him, dirty, only  half-human blood have no masters. They have owners.

After all, slaves are still people. Just people born to serve silently, only reward being that they aren’t executed at spot. But it is acknowledged they can think.

They pass the dead only he can see, angry nobles and merchants who still long for power, terrified slaves and peasants, most of them murdered, some as new as yesterday, some faded so long ago they forgot their own names, all of them screaming and reaching out and whispering and begging, and their thoughts are whirlpools of madness, unconnected names and memories swirling, tearing through him like tornado, like razor wire tearing him apart as he pushes his aura down, extinguishes his power, lest they sense it and rush to use his body as conduit.

( _And Earth calls to him, but it is whisper at back of his thoughts, voice that isn’t as much voice as feeling, land and sea and sky calling, asking for corruption to be banished, to be freed, and he knows nature and history of each rock, knows how electricity travels through wires, knows weather tomorrow, and that is one thing keeping him sane_ ).

Finally, they arrive to palace. It is giant, rising far above even mountains, and if he could he would cringe at thought of what would happen if earthquake hit it, for such unshapely structure, built to conform to social demands instead of practicality can’t be safe (he steps, and understands how foundations were made, he walks and knows cracks on each floor, he enters through slave gate and sees where sand and stones and water  and metal necessary to make it came from). He walks inside, through opulent, gaudy hallways of marble and gold and diamonds, and stifles gasp of wonder that feels like dying breath, chest heavy and clutching, ribs willing to break, and he doesn’t know if it is his own or of other slaves or whether it matters.

In the main hall, they all kneel. Slaves and nobles alike, all of castes and stations on their knees in this gigantic room, where laws are crafted and decisions that change continents are made, where greatest criminals are put on Trial. The Birthplace of Justice, they call it, for slave and noble are alike helpless before Emperor, for all is his and his word is one that moves stars.

And in center, a throne on podium that rises far above them all, made of solid gold, wide and round, decked in agates and rubies, inscribed with holy words. Legend says that it was carved by old gods at his request, in heart of Earth, molded by celestial power from planet’s resources, blessed so that if tainted, ordinary people touched it they would be reduced to ash. For same reason it is forbidden for lower people to touch  Emperor, so as not to taint his sacredness, so his holy touch wouldn’t tear apart their souls.

So his soldiers wouldn’t execute you.

(He wonders how long it took to craft it, and if artists who made it felt bitter for not receiving fame. he blocks himself from it’s voice, for gold and jewel and thrones are witnesses of more blood spilled then there is oceans to fill thrice over, and this one is greatest of them all).

_I have never seen anything like this._

_I would be happy to die here._

_I can’t believe this._

_Something to brag about to grandkids. Pity they will never believe me._

_Hiro is going to die of envy._

_Fuck. I promised myself I won’t cry._

_When he appears I will get heart attack._

_This is my only chance._

_Even if I am determined to be wrong, I will accept any punishment just to see him._

_Thank you._

Human minds are complicated. So many layers, so many thoughts weaving in tangled knots, emotions halfway here halfway there, hundreds of urges bound in one feeling. And doubts and lies, everywhere, forty alternatives for each inkling of thought. But here and now, everybody is honest and true, everybody’s happiness and gratitude shines as strong as Sun, because their Emperor is amazing and they will be in his presence, and that is worth more then all wealth and love and luck of world, a fact as solid and natural as breathing for them.

And he listens to electricity running through tubes and wires, learning it’s steps and ways and what amount is needed for systems to work (mankind think they tamed and imprisoned lighting, but they haven’t, they just provided new way to reach ground), and he sees hordes upon hordes of dead lingering here, and  spells of warding and luck and alarm and negation **Etherically Sensitive** slaves of Imperial family wove in heart of palace until they fell down dead from exhaustion, working for nights and nights, weaving their own lives in it when their ether levels proved too low for weeks of endless work, sigils painted and rituals performed, when and how, under fool moon and at sea and mountain by dawn,  amount of doves and hedgehogs sacrificed, spirits and gods invoked, how one spell ties in next and what sort of intentions activates alarm (there are ten times more slaves here then free men, and hundred more then nobles at least, but one violent swing of fists and guards and security system and wardings would have them shot and crushed and burnt away).

And he looks upon statues, taller then spires and towers, thousands of faces of same man, for Emperor is eternal and always returns to his people, and each face is beautiful and strong and commanding and inviting, and people watching cry, and like flood t washes over him, but he blinks his tears back and keeps head bowed, thinks not of how many here never saw art-for it is only for upper echelons of society- how it felt to paint and shape clay and glass, thinks not of things statues tell him, memories kept within stone, of mountains from which marble was mined hundred years ago, of gold hundred peasants paid for three centuries before, of old man who drove for four days and three nights to deliver rubies and was fired when he fainted in front of duke millenia away, thinks not of triplets who fell in cauldron with paint and drowned because their mother couldn’t afford baby sitter thousand and seventy four years ago, of woman who felt guilty and hanged herself because she happened to think she would have rather carved butterflies then Emperor’s nose thirteen thousand and six hundred years before.

Excluding slaves, most around them are Emperor’s primary subjects, the Golden Caste- merchants and bankers and tax collectors, grouping together with Armored, soldiers and policemen and mercenaries.  Below were the Productive, doctors and engineers and craftsmen, and below them, just above slaves were those of Dirty Caste, peasants and manual servants and prostitutes. And above all, the Crowned,  nobility, lawmakers and judges and land owners, closest to Four Emperors.

No mages and magicians and witches and sorcerers, and just one disgusting halfbreed. He bent his head so that his long black hair would cover brands on his shoulders and palms, and put back against stone walls, instructions for handling his  kind had branded on them obscured by long strands, alongside scars from whippings.

One of nobles rises to podium that stands little below throne and speaks. There is unease all through room, calm before storms, and there is frost like fear and excitement that feels like sparkling water and gratitude so great it seems ready and capable to tear them all apart, and he calls images in his mind _(dirty brothels with sold daughters lying in dirt, old men and women offering starving boy bread for certain favors, the stones cast again and again as they all yell demon child, noble throwing defective thing in river as sacrifice and it is frozen and hard fall, the fire eating straw and wood of cottage_ ) to prevent himself from shaking and screaming from might of it.

‘’Brethren! Wise people of our glorious Emperor and brave warriors, talented workers, loyal servants, and even our lovely slaves, thank you for attending, and revel in glory you shall be exposed to! Today, His Radiant Grace,  Lord of West, The Golden Crown, he who is voice of gods  shall hear your complaints and personally judge!’’ Man burned with pride, with knowledge he will forever be recorded in history as one who spoke on this day before Emperor’s arrival, chosen by him himself,  and slave felt as if he swallowed molten lead, as around him people cheered and screamed.

_No way..._

_This is really happening._

_This must be dream._

_I am going to be treated as saint back home._

_Grandma says that laying eyes upon divine will scorch us because we aren’t good enough._

_This place...it is truly holy._

_How am I supposed to approach him, he is so much above us all..._

_If Emperor touches you, seven generations of your family will know nothing but luck._

_Oh what will I do if he looks on me?_

_He is as beautiful as god .._

_I heard angels were his wetnurses._

_There are demons on my property, his order will burn them all away._

_If only he took some of my slaves, my business would bust so much._

_I hope our offerings aren’t too  measly._

_That guy is so lucky._

_I would give up everything to be his handmaiden._

_I get now why people sell their children in slavery. To be able to come here every year..._

_The bride he chooses will never know pain or ill._

_His children are guarded by Heavens._

_The Kings of Hell bow to his wishes, I can ask him to pray for Sasha, i will offer my own life._

The revelation, the sanctity they experience washes over him, and he knows how they feel, as if veil has been torn from their eyes, as if they finally found something integral that had always been missing, but he avoids choking, putting hands on scars from knives he has all over stomach, at bruises and places where bone broke

 _‘’How do people buy this nonsense? I could compose better in matter of seconds. ’’_ He thought, as he dragged lips over teeth, as he pulled manacles and chains and focused on sweat and scratching of his collar.

 _‘’But then, they have been listening to nothing but this their whole lives. Humans are always creatures of norm.’’_ They appeared composed, and kneeling, all of them, but expectation and unease was whirling through every person like storm, and slave children and infants had to be sedated hours before so they wouldn’t cry and disrupt ceremony.

‘’Our souls shall be bathed and cleansed of taint and miasma when he, Best Beloved of Heavens looks out upon us! Our deeds today, and how he judges us shall sway the hand of Judges of Dead!’’ People cheered, as did dead, long gone victims and ancestors hanging still around, and it was like eruption of thousand  fireworks, bursting under skin, demanding that they all rise and dance.

‘’This is the day none of us shall ever forget, for today we breathe same air and stand on same ground as greatest of all men! Today we shall be exposed to great mercy and justice of our eternal king, who returns to us from hallowed lands of enlightened dead with more power and knowledge each century, the best bellowed of Star Kings who shape earth and sky and now look upon us, standing beside their champion, and his equals in rest of world!’’ The noble was devoured by enthusiasm, still thinking _I can’t believe this honor is mine_ , and slave fought not to shake as noble did, not to screech as he did, to stop wish to sway and kiss floor of all people here, to look around and search for traces of divine, given titles but no names  for only name worth speaking was Emperor’s, by hallowed and consecrated lips of his own private  priests ( _and he ignored shadows, the darkness, the decay of each cell, laughing, snarling, rumbling and growling, for there was no other  gods but Her holding power here, She who takes each creature like mother in Her arms when time comes to cut thread of their life, She who spins pain and misery for mankind, only Her, always walking behind all that lives, here most of all, in this temple to Her_ ).

‘’And now, let audience begin- greet our Golden Emperor!’’ And, with gasp of all present, as nobleman steps down, the walls of hall flicker with searing, chaotic, eye stabbing light, waves of black and gold and red bursting all around them alongside low, chirpy noise, and in burst of smoke and light (and slave knows combination needed for transport, knows where energy came, knows how long it took for translocation hub to be installed in front of throne) Emperor arrives.

People cheer. Scream. Shout. Cry. Pray. There are no voices, no normal thoughts anymore, there is just pure energy, love and joy that flows through them all, energy of hundred thousand that makes blood boil and skin melt.

_Beautiful-Amazing-Can’t- Incredible-Even more-Was right-Everybody- I-Wow-Dear me- Yes- Holy-Perfect-Superior-God’s voice- beloved by Heavens- Sacred-Fantastic-Lord-We must-Everything-Thank you-If only- For him- Superior-So above us all- Sinless- Magnificent-I’m  so proud- This_

_OUR EMPEROR_  
WE ARE YOURS  
WE SERVE  
WE EXIST FOR YOU  
YOUR WORD OUR COMMAND  
THANK YOU

He is silent. He is silent. He is silent. That is what slave must be. He is Liminal, he isn’t truly person, not with magic flowing alongside blood, the words of demon children are curses,  because slaves don’t talk they bark, because Dirty ones are commoners fit just to serve, because child of whore doesn’t need to use mouth and tongue for anything intelligent, because  words of witches and seers and shamans are lies at best and hexes at worst, because halfbreeds are things not human not alive not people.

He is beautiful, the slave must admit that. It isn’t thoughts of thousands pouring in his mind-not wholly at least, but fact, or as much as thing like that can be called fact. He is of fine height, handsome and sharp angled  face smooth but mature, black hair tinted red done up in bun, warm and arrogant smile hanging on lips.  Of nice build, highlighted by his ceremonial armor- red and black and gold all over.

He doesn’t sit properly, but slouches in his holy, untouchable throne, languid and leisure, legs splayed wide, back reeling, elbows on it’s sides,  head bent right. All around, monitors along walls showcase his face, and dead and living alike sigh, consumed by bliss and shyness.

The names are called, and one by one people walk, almost crawl, steps light and full of hope and joy even when they are headed for prison, oozing so much  joy and hope that feel so saccharine and bland that he wants to vomit his intestines. Doubly so when there is not inkling of doubt when rich bankers and highborn noblemen are most common to be called, to have received the permits and invitations,  and to be declared correct.

Emperor’s words are voice of gods. His verdicts are law unto law, as great as one that makes Earth turn. And Fates are just, giving everybody what they deserve- poverty and starvation are punishments ( _they know nothing, nothing, nothing of hos goddesses, Weavers of world,  Grandmothers of all souls, mortal and divine, of their reasons and and whimsy, for they are great and terrible and know nothing of good and evil, they are twilling and death and birth and they allow choice)._

Emperor judges, and at each word they swoon, at each word they clap, at each movement of finger they cheer. How they adore him, how they love him. What they wouldn’t do for him.  They would conquer the world again and again, rally troops against whole of  cosmos, recover their homeland (but not his, for to say any place can lay claim to him is blasphemy,  for entire universe is his by birth and divine decree) lost beneath the seas, mothers would tear children from wombs, infants would rip out still growing teeth one by one if only he ordered so.

Slave Number 3768091 is on his knees, head bent, and he doesn’t smile, doesn’t cheer.

And finally, a peasant, one of maybe thirteen that were blessed with permit comes last. Poor one, with shabby clothes and rough grey beard, hair all cracked and torn, wrinkles more from worry then age, shaking as his damaged shoes bat loudly over stairs as he climbs to throne. People don’t contain their sharp glares, or mocking thin smiles, and their hatred and envy pours like river overflowing with mud, a constant of _My family could have had that_ and _How dare he sully this hall with such appearance_ and _He was invited to see our Emperor doesn’t he care about  paying respe_ ct  and _Uncouth peasants, Emperors are too kind._

Old man shakes, bends head, _Sorry sorry I apologize I am sorry_ thousand times repeating in his head even if he doesn’t feel them because that is how you speak to those above you, and fear grips and chokes him, body shaking and trembling from anxiety and illness,  _My clothes are disgusting, good Emperor will throw me out immediately we should have paid for better but the baby...._ and most of all, beyond shame and fear, there is pride, there is joy, bright and burning and screeching, joy greater then when his first son was born or last daughter, then when he married or got grandchildren, then when his father was revealed to have survived collapse of mine, happiness that would give him strength to rise beyond grave, to march against army of ships and dragons and archmages and demons because...

_Because I’m blessed to speak with highest of them all._

And so he does. He speaks of his liege lord’s neighbor, trying to but his family’s meager land (their lord fights him, not out of  love and loyalty and justice as peasant wants to believe, slave is sure, but simply unwilling to let such close rival have speck of his dirt, as if land can be truly claimed by any, but then he was always so cynical), how they refused because _we need that land, to survive, we can’t buy new one for price offered,  and we swore loyalty to out lord ten generations ago_ and noble returned later with claim and document saying old man’s grandfather sold land to his family _which I am sure is some mistake (nobles don’t lie, remember that) because we never heard of it and we can’t sell land without out lord’s consent_ and he isn’t there because he has mysteriously died of course, and man breaks down crying.

‘’I see.’’ Emperor says, and everybody hears it, for it is transfered through monitors though court poets will compose hordes upon hordes of epics where his whisper thundered through four corners of world, making mountain shake, where four  voices of four Emperors joined in perfect harmony that spoke truth and justice in hearts of all, blessing good and cursing wicked, echo of divine will.

‘’This is rather unordinary situation. Still, there is no reason to doubt  sincerity of claims. I suggest you  for now give... estate to lord who requested it, and then you, your liege and he should take it up with Dirt Court. Audience dismissed. Now shoo.’’ Emperor said, clapping his hands once in fast, impulsive movement, then waving of  peasant.

‘’But’’ It feels cold, as if blood has dried out and heart stopped beating for second, shock and realizations seeming to shut poor man down before grief and panic swing down like axe, and then everybody screams and shouts and shock and rage and _How dares he Who is he to defy What did he just say How dare that commoner mud Somebody kill him_ and most of all old man’s unspoken _NO!_ as he reaches out hands to emperor before stopping, face frozen in silent scream.

‘’You almost touched me!’’ Emperor spits out, eyes narrowed  and fists swinging around.

_No. How could I... I didn’t mean to...I cursed them all_

‘’I didn’t mean, I am sorry, It was accident, I will repent, I will atone,  I am filthy fool, I apologize for my impudence and selfishness, I am sorry, please kill me, ask gods to spare my family please...’’ He goes on before cutting off, Emperor’s gauntlet hitting armrest of throne, feet swinging down.

‘’Who do you think you are to have right to beg without permission, much less order me to bother gods over something as insignificant as your progeny? Everything in this world has it’s merit, value by which it is judged. Cow is judged by it’s milk, pig by it’s fat, bird by it’s wings, fish by it’s fins. Woman by her womb, man by his cock, soldier by their murdered, banker by their money, smith by their sword, and servant like you by their obedience and respect towards those above them.

You have been graced by my presence, wasted my time on your meaningless home and family when your whole lives are inferior to one my breath, and now you dare try to prolong audience, to argue with ME, to touch ME! That insolence and selfishness.... I will decide what to do with you tomorrow.’’ He spits as he talks, nearly screeches, and old peasant contorts his fragile body so he wouldn’t taint Emperor’s saliva by touch screaming I am sorry, I will atone, Punish me as guards drag him.

Emperor slaps gloved hands on his widely separated knees, and with lazy satisfaction thinks ‘’Now only to review slaves’’ before speaking it second later.

Half second later, Slave Number 3768091 rises first, and unlike his siblings by chains and brand marks he doesn’t smile, and his eyes  are wide and cold and empty and uncaring.

_Finally_

_Oh if only he chose me_

_Imagine that_

_being Emperor’s slave_

_Even for day_

_More then I ever wanted_

_Better then freedom_

_Better then nobility_

_I may clean his shoes_

_I would sew his clothes_

_I might meet his priesthood_

_I could be his pleasure slave_

Slave Number 3768091 thinks of huts burning down, of harsh winds whipping skin, of steel around his neck, of starvation producing illness, of lighting dancing on clouds, of rain after drought, of stars shining bright against darkness, of field full of crops and flowers and butterflies, of feeling of magic flowing and being released from him. And not of nobleman’s words before this charade began, not of legends they tell each child before it learns it’s name, not of desire building in them all. And not of laughter and roar of Fates, of pain, of darkness.

‘’ Slave Number 3768091, come.’’ Emperor murmurs,  hand propped up by elbow partly covering mouth, other tapping Random Selection button on his list of slaves, and after moment too long for trained slave, he walks towards throne.

_So skinny_

_Such ugly creature_

_Damn it’s not one of mine_

_At least none of my rivals will get money and reputation from buying him_

_A Common property ah? Lucky guy_

_Looks like girl with that ugly skirt and awful hair_

_He is so lucky_

_Go on friend, I hope you choke_

_At least one of us gets such luck-it should have been me_

_I am better worker and prettier and surely more obedient_

_Ugh so dirty_

_Emperor is too kind_

He walks with face void of smile and pride, and  each step is as graceful and strong as he can make it, and he tries to appear as if chains and broken ribs and rags don’t bother him, and he shakes his hair so they see markings on his arms, and he blinks and lets stars and distant worlds and northern lights bleed in his no more human eyes, and relishes in screams.

_AAAAH_

_No_

_What is that doing here_

_This is impossible_

_Demon  product_

_Get rid of that thing_

_Why aren’t guards reacting_

_How did gods allow this_

_Get away before it eats your heart_

_Does  Emperor know_

_Abomination_

_Defective_

But they dare not attack him, for fear he will drink their blood and shatter their souls, and slaves and nobles alike flee, clearing path before him, and fear is bitter but so soothing, even as he is forced to climb and kneel between legs of smirking Emperor, shake of desire and pride and need to bend head and lick fingers and spread himself nude listen to _Amazing He can control it Of course It cannot malfunction against him He must want to wield weapon against  wicked demons_ and looks at Emperor’s gold sheathed, beautiful, sharp sword, and thinks of heat of forge against bare back, of desperate hands  striking metal again and again, of frigid water poured over it, feels it sing, demand to be released from it’s confines.

Emperor presses button, and translocation hub lights up, and they are gone before nobleman from before  can start with his blabbering of glory of Emperor.

* * *

 

They are in Emperor’s wing of palace in moment.

To clarify-whole palace belongs to Emperor, as does Empire and Earth and universe and afterlife, as any child can tell you, but this is his  extra private wing, as he refers to it, for there Emperor rests and has fun ( _even more then usual_ ) and it is said guards must be ritually washed before and after entering to be cleansed from miasma so not to taint Emperor’s dwelling, that nobody but Emperor knew actual way to rooms that were solely for his use. Much ahs been talked about those rooms, enough of them to constitute palace unto themselves, beautiful and grand and opulent and holy and so lonely, for that is burden of Emperor, to always be separated from common folk because of his superior morals and reasoning.

Slave Number 3768091 would have liked those empty corridors, if not for decadent decorations of jewels and gold, and mirrors. Mirrors everywhere, and Emperor’s reflection stretching in infinity.

Some priests claim, and it is sometimes treated as blasphemy and sometimes as sign of genius, that Emperor’s connection with gods brings look on life and way of thinking barely comprehensible to humans. Slave doesn’t know how much gods have with it, and understands  how they can change  things ( _The Divine reaching out, magic flowing with blood, nature speaking, eyes full of stars, mirrors calling branching out in eternity_ ), but he must admit that Emperor’s mind is truly rare and pleasant to be around.

Human minds (and **Etherically Sensitive** too) are akin to personalized, well built rooms that also happened not to be cleaned in last three decades, and inhabited by hoarder. Just at very birth, there is horrible mess  that comes from being human- all those chemicals brain needs to run properly, and everyone is different,  just as walls are built  from and in different materials and ways. All those ways to experience world, wheels turning and thinking and feeling so many tangled emotions they don’t know well, shifting from one to other... And then they grow up, and become true people, with beliefs and ideas and memories which may be awakened by strangest association, and doubts, always wavering and shaking and wanting more and analyzing everything and lying to itself and others, conflicting ideals and desires, toxic thoughts hidden under false smiles, all seeking to devour you, to make you like them...

In comparison, Emperor’s mind and feelings are annoying, but not painful. It is rather like listening to white noise, instead of constant screaming, dramatic monologs and off-key singing. All of his beliefs are solid and steady as as sky and stones, lacking doubt or conscience to shake his faith even slightly. His will is easily focused, completely directed, as clear as mirrors he adores so much. He pays no attention to criticizing others in his mind because it is too busy with singing praises to himself. there are no words, sentences, complex thoughts or plans, just awareness of moment. Simple, whole-hearted emotions, expectancy in this case, cheerful and bouncing. He walks with thundering, wide steps, looking ahead, eyes not even gracing floor but whirling to sides and mirrors, back little leisurely bent, arms held little above neck, crossed. Slave trails behind him like shadow, Emperor’s expectancy buzzing like flies in his stomach (he ate them, and rats, and grass before).

Finally they arrive, after too many turnings and stairs, to Emperor’s bedroom. He leans in, lowering knees little, back almost left horizontal, lying down like table as he tips password on projected screen, interface shining sickly and flickering, weakly electrical and of muted colours, lines and letters all broken edges and shaking curves, sounds buzzing and screeching with each tip. And when colossal doors open, Emperor practically runs inside and throws himself on bed bigger then  rooms of many houses, while slave trails behind.

The Emperor bounces on his bed, up and down, rustling sheets as slave walks toward one of many  closets in room, this one just little below size of average home of average wealthy peasant family of twelve members, holding  only ‘’few’’ most necessary cosmetics (Emperor, of course, has several rooms and factories only for his use) and takes several overpriced handkerchiefs (one of them worth more then thirty healthy adult Armored slaves with two decades of war experience, he checked) and makeup remover.

‘’Will you hurry up?’’ _What is taking you so long_ Emperor whines, voice slow and loud and high-pitched, with annoying artificial note grating on ears, full of snapping impatience run with undercurrent of true confusion, not anger of entitled noble who is snapping at slave, but honest, utter confusion that instant gratification still takes few seconds.

‘’I apologize, Your Radiant Grace. I had to choose the best remover for your superior skin, and navigate my way through all of your stunning wealth.’’ He says,  curling lips and rolling eyes, voice raw and harsh, throat dry and bitter.

‘’Ahhh! Yes, very good, good thinking!’’ _Yes, great, smart hybrid_ and in flash satisfaction fills him, rumbling and deep and self congratulating, directed inwards, because isn’t he so smart to have picked  not only hybrid capable of thinking on it’s own, but also one who shows such initiative to learn and imitate  thinking of it’s masters?

He walks closer, stepping over floor of this place common people equate with Heaven, place where highest nobles would fight and ruin families for to just see for second, where slave for him should never  think of stepping in for threats of death, where **Etherically Sensitive** like him would be proclaimed accursed sinner alongside his entire clan for being found here, where **Liminal** like him would be dismembered in body and soul and cast unto deepest pit of Underworld for  even breathing in here, and walks closer to Golden Crown, Lord of West, greatest of all men, Best Beloved of Heavens, voice of gods, and stops in between his legs, widely separated and thrown over edges of bed, and pays no attention to heart’s frantic beat, to subtle beginnings of blush, to heat that pools in stomach, as he puts on gloves and begins wiping at that holy face something like him should never see.

His head shakes, and pinkness spreads and low heats pools, more and more, crackling with energy, rising harsh and great as they come near each other, as he lays eyes upon sights in mirror, a shining, perfect specimen of man, flawless utterly, and disgusting abomination, half human at best, dirty and beaten and chained, breathing into each other, stomach jumping with .

It shouldn’t be like this. Divine Emperor and **Liminal** born of whore, thought is blasphemy, worse then mass slaughter or bestiality.

Shoulders shake and something gets stuck in throat as slave pulls closer, fingers clutching hard, so so close, as he wipes the greatest face, removing paint and disguise and mask and act, filing away sharp angles and harsh brow and pointy chin and sunken features and darkened liens of eyes and pronounced, hardened nose, revealing soft, small boyish look below, warm and cute baby face.

Surprise, tearing apart. Hot breath, cleaner then anything, composure as fragile as glass, wide eyes and blink that he tries to hide, fire behind ears and neck, clutching stronger, hoping movement of fingers isn’t noticeable.

‘’I could change hair colour, I think. All looks great, of course, but change things bit, bored with this. Brown or orange maybe.’’ Slave ties off bun, letting strands of hair fall down messily, slide in lovely wave, as he tries to take band out without touching hair because even with gloves it might be sin and that one hair is worth then his entire species,  and pressure builds up, his insides coil and toes curl,  heart is dancing, _If only just a touch, just a strand_ , and  skin wants to melt, chest beats up and down, back arching as it flows and _Oh no not here I can’t punishment_ and...

Orgasm that feels like single  soap bubble bursting.

‘’You have come already? Really?’’ Slave asks, watching boy in front of him who is thrusting hips in air with incredible force, snapping and hitting legs over floor, arching back and lewdly screaming, eyes spinning and head thrashing around as he opens mouth wide before falling down, drool slicking at corners of mouth and pulling on sheets as if from dog, skin stretched tight over skull.

 _AAaah-aaaaaa-Ah-Ah-aaahhhhh_ “ Ah-Aaaah-Ah-aaaah, I didn’t, I just’’ _You are, This is, ahhhha, not so bad_ ‘’You, this time,...was better, lot longer.’’ He whispers, while rolling over sheets, or at least attempting to, for even ceremonial armor is heavy and uncomfortable in such situations.

‘’Just because you didn’t get off to a stiff breeze, fabric touching you or being in room with me _this time_ it doesn’t count as long. It is progress in right direction, but your stamina is still pathetic when compared to oversensitive boy starting puberty at nine.’’ Boy let out few ragged breaths and whimpers, his thick hair tangling, red and black strands knotting together as he whipped head over sheets.

‘’And those sounds and behavior! Is that way somebody of your, no any status should behave? Those needy moans and desperate thrusting just from being in contact with another man, one who shouldn’t even  be able to speak to you! I was born in brothel, and let me tell you, not one prostitute I ever met has behaved as wantonly  and perverted as you.’’ What he was speaking now was disgustingly similar  to what all of those women, his mother and he himself heard for doing their job, or being forced in it, but he swallowed it. He wouldn’t cut this boy any slack.

Besides, his scrunching face, eyes that refused to meet slave’s gaze,  shame that pricked beneath skin and lust that suffocated,  slave’s words repeating without question in boy’s crowned head.... Well, it was satisfying, especially after weeks spent as  packhorse by sneering merchants, spat by passing fools once they saw marks on his arms, after whippings and broken bones and being cut open by doctors to examine how inhuman his internal organs were ( _fools-it was all soul and mind, and blood was just medium, only mattering  in act of spilling, but he would not give up that secret_ ).

‘’And you promised you would control yourself, yet I see you again lied. Do you want to hurt yourself? You know all those constant erections are extremely unhealthy, and could be dangerous  if it went on and became chronic. Should  you again take anaphrodisiacs several times a day? And should  Emperor be satisfied and desperate for anybody?’’

_Not lie, what I say is truth._

_Not that awful drink again!_

_I’m Emperor, greatest, most fertile man, dream of all ladies and princesses, I can’t be..._

‘’ But I suppose that can’t be helped. You are as you are. Can’t fault or punish you for that. Gods made you such for reason. We can only channel it.  It makes sense even-you are still only _little_ for anything else but this.’’ They boy flutters his eyelashes before beaming with realization, smiling wide dumb smile, and slave can’t decide if he would rather grin or scowl.

‘’Will you help me?’’ Boy asks, and slave sighs at grumbling in words, at images that follow, star-struck servants sobbing and madly giggling because they were chosen to help Emperor dress, because people like him are so far above banal tasks like that and that is why Dirty Ones exist.

‘’You know, some of your child soldiers can do it alone. When we were fighting we had to take mail off and on by ourselves. I suppose you could be excused for that decorative plate but for rest... Have you learnt how to untie shoelaces?’’ Slave asks, swiftly removing armor and leaving it at sides, getting down and catching boy’s boots little above knee.

‘’Um I’m not sure...’’ _What do shoelaces have to do with anything? I’m wearing boots. And why should I busy myself with that_? Slave sighs as he pulls boots, putting them neatly besides armor. He stares for moment on Emperor’s pants, more akin to tights, thin leather black as night, threaded with golden thread and red  stitched sacred vows, toes and heel free, strip of fabric between first and second toe making it seem like some strange shoe or sock, and on silky, netlike  shirt that cuts off at shoulders, exposing his pale, soft neck.

‘’Up now, little one.’’ Slave says, taking off heavy  jewel encrusted crown and throwing it far away at other side of giant bed as if it was worthless toy, then pulling off sheath and sword, holding on them for moment, listening to it’s memories, it’s victories and victims before laying it softly at floor away from boots and armor.

‘’Ugh, why can’t you just do it like normal slave?’’ The boy pouts, cheeks huffing as he props himself up and lays down  on bed, even as something knocks and stirs in his gut, fear flowing down spine, desire burning, humiliation growing.

‘’Well, you could show me how this is done. Only people I ever had to undress who weren’t infants were sick, injured and immobile. Surely as twenty year old you know how?’’ _Well, guess you can’t expect hybrid to get everything, even such simple stuff_ , as slave fights to take jacket off his  back as boy still lays down.

‘’Let us try now. See if you can go through this without getting hard.’’ _Nooo_ resounded as slave took off boy’s shirt, pathetic panic and whimpering grasping at his mind, making it feel as if his skin would wobble like jelly, that rivers would pour from his eyes, that his ears would explode, then filled with vapid ease that felt like old cotton candy when he threw shirt away, paying no attention to hot pink inverted nipples, two lines crossing through areolae where buds should be. The boy squirmed as slave glanced over words at his torso.

**Cock –drunk. Dick hungry. Desperate whore. Cum dump. Little bitch. Use me! Cock slut. Feed me!**

‘’Good for now! Let us see if we can continue progress.’’ And as he raised boy’s legs, and put their knees up as with baby, he felt flush return, that syrupy irritation that went on as boy beneath him squirmed and moaned and coughed, as pressure built inside him and rose, shame thick and heavy as mud, fueling his arousal,  shoulder blades dragging and scratching at mattress below, legs wobbling and shaking as slave pulls away heavy belt, as he tears slowly tight pants, from hips and thin strand between toes.

‘’Augh-aaah-ummm-AAAAhhhhh ay aya ah ah’’ The boy whispered as slave slid off pants, taking in hand his legs, slender and shapely, hairs on them thin and few and lessening closer to hips they got, muscles lovely but useless, born from training of shape, not of strength and running. Nothing like his, skin dark from work in fields and with sickly undertone and  more similar to rotting leather then human skin, hard earned muscles clinging to bones at places visible from starvation, decorated with scars from blades and rocks and broken bones, each healed by hand and weed and torn fabric and spell and silent prayer to Lady Luck.

The bubble bursts.

‘’I guess it could really not be helped.’’ He says as he takes boy’s mesh underwear, something  between briefs and thong, grasping material and tightly pulling it off as boy screams and starts hitting him with legs and tightly holds on sheets, dragging hair over mattress, hitting it with head, up and down, again and again, and gathers fabric and socks that fall out.

‘’At least it will be easy to wash.’’ He gathers false bulge, throwing several pairs of socks at edges f bed, looking at tiny drop of cum at scarf, several times smaller then fingernail, before glancing down at boy beneath him, legs spread as much as he can manage, eyes softly glowing with desire, tongue almost falling out, gripped and tied with heavy embarrassment, hands covering nipples, refusing to meet his gaze, ahs and ums breathed out.   _Please don’t mock me, please laugh at me_ , lust gripping tight and pulling slave down like magnet, shame like polluted water pushed far down throat.

He looks down on boy’s cock-if that word can even be used for cute  pink nub that requires either squinting, closeness  to crotch that is likely too considered sin especially for slave, or some sort of looking glass or microscope or zooming in photo program. Not bad looking, of nice shape despite complete lack of pubes or shaft, but of size and girth equal to nipple (not his of course). Balls included. And glances on words written over legs in big black letters.

 **Baby dick. Cocklette. Micro peen. Failure of man. Sloppy cunt. Free hole. Please fuck me! !! I spread legs for anybody!!!** and multitudes of hearts and smiles.

‘’Will you fuck me now, Sir?’’ The boy was pleading, slave feeling his hope and desire choke him, desperate and hungry in way that shamed royal concubines hoping to bear heir.

‘’Very well. Legs back.’’ With giant grin, and after some struggling, boy pulls legs up to shoulders. _Tie me_ , slow and hopeful turns up in his mind, and slave shakes head as he ties boy’s wrists with scarf, puts belt around his neck as collar.

‘’Thank you so so much Sir!’’ He looks amazing this way, thick metal and leather around his neck as if with dog, hands helplessly held together by precious scarf, legs spread as wide as possible, his bones aching, his pathetic nub completely invisible fat bubble ass held out invitingly.

The sir hits it.

‘’AAAAH!’’  Slut screams, shouts, jerks, hitting his tied hands over bed, twisting arms and tying them together, legs jerking even as they are held open, as sir smacks his cheeks again and again, swiftly and without mercy, looking at words scrawled at slut’s legs, not letting him have five seconds of rest between one and other.

‘’ÁAAAh- AY AY AY- OH MY- AUGH-SIR SIR-‘’ The slut screams, drool freely flowing from lips, after each stinging hit of glove, as his bottom turns pink, twenty smacks in minute, watching himself in dozens of mirrors from dozens of angles, seeing how pathetic and small and weak he looks.

‘’Don’t try to complain, or I will get a cane, or perhaps belt.’’ Sir says, looking at flesh turning redder and hotter with each hit, at welts in form of handprints left, only one thought on mind Here, I have gloves, Your Holiness won’t be corrupted by my disgusting being.

‘’AAAAAAA- MY SIR-MY LORD-Why-AAAAAACHHHH-WHY WHY SORRY I’M SORRY!’’ The slut screams, each hit like lighting, sending his very cells shaking, tears on eyes as he tries to catch sir’s attention, as he tries to gaze in his beautiful face, as he watches himself in mirrors, sees his teeth bared and face flushed pink and running with tears and snot

‘’Why, you...’’ _smack_ ‘’ You dare ‘’ _smack_ ‘’to ask’’ _smack_ ‘’you little’’ _smack_ ‘’horrible brat.’’  
‘’ YE-AAAAAAAAA-SSSS- SORR-YGHHHH- PLEASE LORD- I WILL PAY-AAAAAH’’ And neither can see it, but they are both aware how hard his  tiny boyhood is, how it is already leaking.

‘’You are supposed to be just! You are supposed to be Emperor! You are supposed to help your subjects!’’ Sir almost screams, holding legs that wildly flail around like blind bird, hitting him over head shoulders-they are so clean and soft and beautiful, and he doesn’t want to take off those perfect white gloves, to reveal his broken and dirty nails, scars and callouses and hard skin on his palms.

‘’I-AAAAAAAH- MERCY-NOOOOOO- AMMMMMM’’ The slut is sobbing now, digging in his own skin with his elbows, reading  his nature, written on skin as with all, in mirrors  **⅃** **ITT** **⅃** **Ǝ** **ᙠ** **ITƆH** **ᗡ** **ƎƧ** **ꟼƎ** **ЯATƎ WHOЯƎ** **ᙠ** **A** **ᙠ** **Y** **ᗡ** **IƆ** **K** **ᖷ** **ЯƎƎ HO** **⅃** **Ǝ**

‘’Don’t’’ _smack_ ‘’lie’’ _smack_ ‘’to’’ _smack_ ‘’me’’ _smack_ ‘’or’’ _smack_ ‘’I’’ _smack_ ‘’will’’ _smack_ ‘’break’’ _smack_ ‘’you’’ _smack_ ’’ ‘’in’’ _smack_ ‘’pieces!’’

‘’ÁY AY AY- SO-AHHH-WHA AHHHHH’’  Hits grow stronger, faster, falling one above too, hitting thighs and sending soft flesh burning, and Sir fights screams and confusion and pain in his head, feeling of having drunk barrel of alcohol then lit it on fire inside.

‘’ That poor old man! How dare you do that to him! Victim of fraud and you!’’ Spit flies from sir’s face, in slut’s eyes, and maybe hit teeth are sharper then humans should be, maybe there are wounds that can only be made with iron shoved down throat.

‘’I-AAAAAAH-DON-UGHHHH UNDERS-AAAAAAA-THE COUNT SAID-‘’ The slut  barely can breathe, barely can hold himself, coming again and again, aware of everything, of each scorching hit, of how his face looks, of belt pressing on his throat, of same tone masters use with slaves. He is soft and pliant as putty, tossed around like ragdoll.

‘’And you believed him? That somebody dared make transaction of cent, much less entire home, without putting it in records? Even if they did, wouldn’t that mean count’s family didn’t pay taxes, that they lied to **you** , to the Emperors? doesn’t that demand stripping of title? And you dare imprison that poor man?’’ _Oh_ realization comes to slut’s mind, and slave thinks of his mother’s hands working on fields from dawn to dusk, of that disgusting little cottage that suffocated in summer and threatened them with frostbite in winter, of sleeping at floor, a witch whore hated by all and lowest of them all and her demon child who she is so above in all regards, thinks of sleeping in mud and eating from trash when  policemen weren’t looking, and slows down his assault.

‘’You... In morning, you will investigate this, and deal with this, and let poor old man go. Explain how his mistake was horrible but normal for sinful human nature, how this is show of mercy from you, that grandest crimes can be forgiven, or whatever.’’ Sir breathes out, and how is fair that even like this slut is so beautiful and pure, that he knows nothing but comfort ad gold? To know nothing of cold and hunger, to be scarred and chained, as does he, whore’s child with whatever inhuman spirit she consorted with.

‘’Oops.  Right, my mistake. Of course!’’ Slut smiles, and it is easy and sweet and bright and cute and soft, and how is it fair? And then new thought, new desire comes creeping.

‘’No. You haven’t deserved for me to fuck or feed you. But I will gift you. You can’t touch yourself or me, but I will allow you this. And close your mouth.’’ The slut grumbles and shines _thank you Master_ as he pouts and closes lips and sir undoes rag  like skirt.

‘’Oh my.’’ And there is that same soft gasp, as always, the feeling of brain going numb and short-circuiting as wonder fills and drowns him, as slut stares at sir’s cock, sees what penis should really look like. Long and thick, enough to wrap both arms around it, obscene balls hanging, uncouth bush of hair all around, drool and hunger leaking out from slut at sight of that big dick, which cannot be hopelessly outmatched by pinkie even when it is flaccid, much less hard as slut’s, and perhaps it is cruel but sir lets him believe it id ordinary.

He takes hard dick in hand, wrapping both palms around it as slut’s eyes widen and widen as does his starved smile, his desperate wish to fall down and worship phallus of that thing that exists as aberration of all good with humanity, Liminal, to nuzzle against it, bury his nose in pubes, be hit in face, gag on it, be speared by it.

‘’Man is judged by his cock, right? What do you say? Your judgement is as flawless as that of gods.’’ He grunts, as he jerks off his dick, slut’s desperate eyes tracing each movement, and sir hears Fates laugh.

‘’Yesss. Yes. You are so big and good to look at  and strong and great servant, you are amazing and fascinating to have fun with, and so careful and smart with your duties, and kind and interesting to me. Everybody would have loved you if you were human.

And I’m joke. I’m no man at all, I can’t even properly pass for boy. I’m laughable imitation who is insult to every male, who can’t have kids or pleasure anybody and is smaller then clit, only good for spreading legs, who should let every guy fuck him! My lord, please let me  see real cum!’’ Slut begs and cries and waits until sir comes, because not everybody orgasms in  partial seconds, edging himself, raising his torso and angling it to catch, and finally his master erupts, shooting giant tendrils of white all over him, absolutely covering him in thick semen, smearing his face with it, his entire torso, burying his peen as sluts imagines what it would be like if it was his cum, as he whines because none of it landed in his sloppy hole.

And then sir lets his hair float around him with otherworldly force, lets aether inside him flow freely, feels power that came with his mother’s blood and magic that his spirit sire brought and strength he earned through blood and work, through danger and curiosity and mad need whip freely, and he connects, because he understand, with world, he knows voice of earth and shape of wind, dance of lighting and taste of flame and will of water, he knows price of balance and weight of darkness and weaving of Lady Luck, and he can change it all, and he reaches out with magic and turns forward time, plays with molecules and forms until his come dries, turns crusty and yellow, scarf untying itself, hair and thighs completely covered in dry cum.

_Let it. And belt. And can I..._

‘’No, you will get cold.’’ Dissatisfaction, nagging, scratching at his mind.

‘’All right. But not much. And you will bathe tomorrow, _Rice Grain_.’’ And maybe  some more hits, or plug, or more denial, sir plans as he dresses boy, putting on him tony white socks reaching up to ankles, pink panties and too long black  shirt without sleeves, breathing in horrible mixture of smells, of sweat and cum and hot wet skin, feeling dizzy calm afterglow.

‘’I got some work to review. ‘’  Boy complains, and sir nods, taking his tablet, opening documents and reviewing plans.

‘’Sing for me. You can sleep here till morning.’’ Boy murmurs.

‘’thank you much, Your Grace.’’ Says slave.

‘’Rice Grain.’’ Murmurs boy as he is tucked in bed, as slave sings pretty and cheap lullaby his mother taught him, soft tones falling and caressing boy, crystal clear voice leading him in land of dreams.

_(‘’Why are you whipping that slave? ‘’_

_‘’It isn’t true slave, Your  Radiant Grace. Its is **Liminal**. The defective one.’’_

_‘’Oh? How did it malfunction?’’_

_‘’It was singing, Your radiant Grace.’’_

_‘’Really?’’_

_‘’Yes, Your Radiant Grace. Even though it knew it was forbidden. It sang lullaby to one of dying slave’s children.’’_

_‘’Interesting. Bring it to my palace. **Liminal** , singing! I must hear that.’’_

_‘’Of course, Your Radiant Grace.’’_ )

So he dressed himself, after boy was sleeping, and sat down, activating hologram display option, reviewing complaints and praises, battle plans and technology developments.  He snatched glance to mirror, eyes full of stars.

 **NEWS ON REBELLION** , it read, and his reflection winked and took image unto itself, fleeing deeper and deeper in glass, returning seconds later, thumbs up.

Then he laid on floor and slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I will have more in series. Please tell me what you think.  
> Also please, send suggestions for stuff you would like to see.


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